


tact is for the intelligent

by sultrygoblin



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - a git is a git. it is not the enunciation
Relationships: Arnold Rimmer/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	tact is for the intelligent

“And who would this beautiful young woman be?” Ace Rimmer asked, taking your hand, leaning forward and bringing your knuckles to his lips. You giggled nervously, managing to stutter out your name without too much hardship, “Well it is quite a pleasure to meet you,” giving you a smile and wink that make your knees tremble just a little, “Maybe when we get out of this mess I’ll have a chance to share a drink with the most beautiful woman this side the continuum.

They all manage to make it out alive. Much to Rimmer’s distaste. And that means you’ll be out on a date with Mr. Smegging Perfect himself. Except you’re not because the door to his and Lister’s sleeping quarters open. You come flying in, throwing your shoes to the floor with a clatter that makes him jump, and a deep growl in your throat.

“The nerve!” wiping at the smeared lipstick that had no doubt come from your date with Ace, “What does he take me for?” it’s incredibly clear you’re expecting Lister, “I’ve barely gotten to know the man and already he thinks we’re going to recreate a National Geographic special? The nerve!” you collapse beside him on the bunk, finally turning to look at him and seemingly taking in it was not the man you had expected, “Is that how I come off? A slag?” your gaze is pointed as if you’re angry at him too, “Is that what you all think of me?”

You are currently angry at every single Rimmer, “No,” he squeaks, knowing he has no power to muster any sort of comfort, “I’m sure Lister has lager in his locker.”

You huff, clammering to your feet and stomping them. Dave is barely in the door when you’re storming out and he turns his gaze to his roommate.

“Did you ruin her date?” his voice so heavy with accusation it took Rimmer a moment to stop being offended.

“Turns out Commander Rimmer did that all on his own,” which earns him a roll of the eyes that he doesn’t understand, “What?”

Lister shook his head, turning to follow you out the door, “Luv, come on! Talk to your Uncle Davey, yeah?”

He manages to catch up with you in the observation tower. You’ve got a pilfered cigarette in a white knuckled grip. You’d quit years ago but it seemed tonight was just the right occasion for a stumble. Which is exactly how your best friend knew it was serious.

Making his way up the stairs quickly, he snatches the stick from you, “These’ll kill you, ya know?” taking a long drag himself, “You are the only woman in the universe with Rimmer problems that _don’t_ involve a restraining order.”

“Do you think playing Goldilocks with Rimmers makes me legally insane?” you sigh, stealing it back to puff down the last of it and allowing him to crush it beneath his heel.

“No,” wrapping his arm around your shoulder and resting his head against yours, “I think it’s good. ‘Least you’re attracted to someone.”

“This really sucks, Dave,” leaning into him with a long exhale.

“I know, luvie, _I know_.”

You decide very quickly that the correct answer is to drink more and Dave bids you good night with other plans on his mind. It doesn’t surprise him to see Rimmer laying in his bunk, staring blankly at it’s ceiling as he mutter to himself all manner of insults that even his bunkmate hadn’t considered.

“What happened?” which earns him a stuttering recount of the short moment with confused commentary that he can’t help laughing out.

“What is so amusing, chipmunk cheeks?” sitting up quickly as to glare at the man properly.

“You cannot-” shaking his head at the unmoving glare on the man’s face, “She cares what you think, smeg head! Ace thinks she’s easier than a Swedish co-ed at Oktoberfest, so why wouldn’t you?”

“She’s not,” his glare melting into a deer in the headlights look that was much more amusing, “She’s...” struggling with his own internal monolouge of self hatred.

“She’s what?” snapping at his fingers and pointing at the man, “Anything could be better than _there’s_ lager,” looking at him pointedly, “Well spit it out!”

“She’s perfect,” he whispers but it still earns him a clap and a point as the man climbed into his bunk.

“Maybe you should try telling her that,” pointing at the door, “Soon! She’s about to be quite drunk and very mean.”

You are well on your way when he finds you, equally pajama clad and taking a shot of whiskey from a line poured in front of you. One is gone, the second you do when he walks in and there are three more planned it seems. The bottle still sitting on the counter said that there might be just a few more than that.

“You’re not a slag,” he says, awkwardlly standing just on insided the door.

“Yeah,” you clicked your tongue, “You made _that_ clear,” slugging down the next shot like it was water and slamming the glass down next to the others.

“What I mean,” making his way towards the bar with a gusto that only seemed to exist due to your slightly inebbriated and miserable state, “It’s just,” you don’t look at him, just trace your fingertip around the edge of the next full shot glass, “He shouldn’t have done that,” finding an eerie confidence in her annoyance, how much worse could it really get for either of them, “I should’ve said that he’s a git,” you hummed in agreement, gulping down the next one, “I smegged up. I mean, he smegged up,” he sighed, shaking his head, “If I had the chance he had, I wouldn’t have smegged it up like that.”

You finally look at him, surprising him with a smile, “If you had done it, it wouldn’t have been smegging it up.”

Both of you could blame it on the drinks, especially the one you were just finishing as you climbed to your feet. You could have even called it a badly timed joke. But both of you knew that wasn’t true. You had meant what you said and neither of you were about to forget it.


End file.
